


The New Classic

by britishshoe



Category: Led Zeppelin, The Who
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britishshoe/pseuds/britishshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where the 60s/70s basically didn't happen and all of those people and bands only become reality in this year of our lord 2015</p><p>Disclaimer: I don't own any of these people, none of this is real, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay here is the intro it's a rough concept don't give me too much hell

"Look, Robert, I don't care. I don't care about that stupid band or their stupid EP, alright? We've got music of our own to be working on," Jimmy said without raising his eyes from his computer screen, which was filled with the MS Paint-esque album covers that he had made himself and was probably really proud of despite their amateur look. Robert continued to stand behind him holding his own computer and glaring at the wall above his desk.

"Okay, Jim, but in three months when you love them and pretend you pioneered the fandom, I'll still be here, ahead of the trend," Robert responded and turned on his heel, making his way up the stairs. He had found out about The Who, a local band, online when he ran across their bandcamp. They sounded like a rock 'n roll renaissance and it didn't hurt that they were all really aesthetically pleasing. The lead singer looked like Robert, but about half the height, which he found incredibly endearing. 

"At least now you don't have to jack off to your own reflection," Jimmy announced as he walked up behind Robert, who was browsing pictures of the man. "Roger, eh? Even your names are similar."

"Fuck off, dude, and stop sneaking up on me. Fucking creep," Robert huffed, wandering into the kitchen and sitting his computer on the bar as he pulled up a stool. Jimmy loomed a foot from him and cracked the cap off a beer against the counter. Robert trailed his fingers along where the contact was made to make sure the counter hadn't been chipped, only to have his action interrupted by Jimmy leaning forward to speak to him.

"So like, if he's your dopplegänger, legend says one of you is evil right? I don't know the guy all that well, but my bets are on you being the shadow twin," he said as he took a long swig of the lager. 

"Says the inventor of S&M over here," Robert mumbled as he tried to focus on his laptop screen.

"Ooooh you would know," Jimmy replied, biting the air harshly next to Robert's ear as he walked around him. Robert felt his skin crawl as the clanking of Jimmy's teeth shot his mind into a replay of the night Jimmy had left him bruised and bitten with his head spinning. He felt all the muscles in his body tense up like a giant charley horse as Jimmy's laughter rang up through the stairwell that he was travelling back down to the basement. He was a bit shorter than Robert but nearly five years older, and much more obnoxious. As much as Robert was loose with his sexuality and would find himself checking bisexual on internet surveys, Jimmy's flirting always felt like foreign territory. The man knew how to make him tense that was certain, but he found himself sweeping it under the rug quite often. It's all that he could do, Jimmy was his housemate not to mention his band's guitarist. He couldn't necessarily get rid of him, nor did he know if he wanted to. This thought was interrupted when he heard the scream of Jimmy's guitar making it's way from the basement. He went and loudly slammed the door before returning to his computer that was still plastered with pictures of the man that he had been focused on before. 

"Roger Daltrey..." he mumbled as he shut the computer and headed for the front door.


	2. Chapter 2

"THAT'S BULLSHIT AND YOU KNOW IT!" he screamed, the veins in his neck fighting against his skin.

"It's true, grow up dude," said the other man with an evil smirk on his face. 

"ROGER! Tell Keith that there's no way Space Jam is the best movie ever made!" he shouted at his friend that had remained quiet on the other side of the room.

"Roger, tell Pete that he doesn't know shit," Keith shot back with a slight wave of his hand.

"You know the fuck what Moon-"

"ENOUGH!" Roger interjected as he shrugged on a jacket. "I'm gonna go get coffee and if you two will stop bickering, MAYBE I'll bring something back. Keith, stop picking at Pete, and Pete, stop pretending Space Jam isn't a cinematic masterpiece." He slammed the door behind him before either of them had time to protest. He began to shuffle to the cafe, which wasn't usually much of a walk, but he found himself making the trip in the rain. He pulled up his hood and made a run for it, watching his feet smack the wet pavement. As soon as he heard the bell crashing against the coffee shop door, he felt his head colliding with someone's abdomen. He fell face first with a great thud, hardly stopping himself with his hands, and as he made his way to his feet he heard a protest.

"How about watchin' where you're fuckin' goin', mate?" Roger looked at the receiver of his headbutt, who had fallen on his ass and sat on the sidewalk covered in fresh coffee. When he looked up at Roger, his aggravation seemed to melt and his facial features grew soft.  He held out his hand and Roger quickly took it, hefting him to his feet. 

"I'm sorry..."

"Robert- I'm Robert"

"I'm sorry, Robert." 

They stood in front of each other for a moment, hands still intertwined and shaking them up and down slowly. Roger took Robert in- blonde curly hair that had begun falling out of a hair band, canvas shoes with no socks, and a tall lean figure. Roger became very self aware. He noticed his own curly hair that wasn't quite as long, his uptight sweater-clad style, and his frame that was half a foot shorter than his new acquaintance's. 

"Listen," Roger started, "since I made this mess, I'll somewhat clean it up. Let me buy you some new coffee."

"Yeah? Yeah. Thank you," Robert agreed to the proposal and opened the door ushering Roger in. There weren't any people in line, and the barista looked at them knowingly, as they had been watching through the glass front of the store. 

"Hey, can I get two black coffees and a caramel frapp, along with-" Roger said as he turned his head up to Robert, silently telling him to order.

"Oh, and four small ice coffees," Robert said as he slid his hands in his pockets, rocking from the heels to the balls of his feet. Roger handed over his dues and moved down the counter to wait, Robert in tow. They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, waiting on their drinks.

"So, four coffees, huh? Thirsty?" Roger immediately cursed himself for this dad humor and felt heat growing in his face. 

"Nah, man," Robert said with a small chuckle, "I've got band practice today."

"Y-you're in a band, huh? Me too," Roger said as he leaned against the counter.

"I know," Robert said instinctively before realizing what he'd done.  _Oh, GOD. This guy can't know I was just looking at pictures of him in my kitchen._

"Excuse me?" Replied the shorter man, straightening up his stance. 

"I, uh, came across your music online. Recognized your face."  _Man, I'm good at playing shit off._ Robert gave a little nod as if he were approving of his own statement.

"Oh, cool! What did you think?" Roger was suddenly loosened up and was rather plucky, as Robert noticed.

_Your music's a goddamned revelation._

"It's pretty good, dude."

Before Roger could thank him, their drinks had been placed on the counter. Robert got a carrier while Roger decided to juggle his order back to his home. They made their way outside, Robert holding the door again. It had stopped raining but there still wasn't much traffic on the sidewalk. For a moment they stood facing each other and said nothing.

"So, man, I would love to listen to some of your music," Roger confessed with a goofy grin plastered to his face.

"Yeah, of course!" Robert said as he pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket. "Here." He noticed Roger's lack of free hands, and leaned around him, slipping it into his back pocket. "I hope you like it," he was inches from Roger's ear, making his chest tighten. He backed away and waved before heading off in the other direction. Roger stood there watching the man saunter away and not blinking, for fear that the sight would disappear. The encounter seemed almost unreal and there was no one in the world that he wanted to be real more than Robert. He took a deep breath and turned on his heel, making the walk home. When he arrived, he wandered through the door to find Keith and Pete participating in a viewing of Space Jam. His lips curled into a slight smile and he sat their drinks on the end table next to them and walked down the hallway to his room, making sure to shut and lock the door in case they wanted him to settle another argument. He pulled out the slip of paper that had been under Robert's hand a few minutes ago and read the black lettering. His hands found the keyboard of his computer and he began to type the words.

_  
_

_Led Zeppelin._


	3. Chapter 3

Robert spent all of practice caught in his own head. He felt the words leaving his throat but couldn't connect his mind and body. He was stuck in some sort of trance all morning, and was hoping no one was noticing. Just as he finished up a verse, Jimmy stopped playing. 

"Good! Good job, everyone!" he said as he put his guitar on the stand and leapt up the stairs. Bonzo was close behind him, probably planning to cut him off on the way to the refrigerator. Robert shuffled toward the stairs as well, but was stopped by a hand lightly grabbing his arm. He turned to see John looking at him worriedly.

"Hey, man. Are You okay? You seem a little out of it today," JPJ pondered, retracting his hand slowly.

"Yeah! Yeah I'm good," Robert knew he rushed his answer too much, and the other man was gonna see right through him.

"Okay, so, you mean to tell me you haven't been some kind of airhead zombie today? You're gonna pretend all practice you haven't been so in the clouds that birds are caught in your hair?"

_Fuck off, John._

"Well... Maybe. Maybe I've been a bit spacey today," Robert admitted as he plopped down on the floor. John sat on the bottom step of the stairs in front of him, hand on chin and ready to listen. "I met a guy today at the coffee shop. It was the guy from that band I've been listening to. He was really nice and paid for our drinks... I guess I'm just thinking about how nice that was."

"Oh, a nice gesture, huh? I know every time someone is nice to me, I act like this too," John replied, smirking. "I know once a woman held the door for me and I drew a heart with 'JPJ + Lady Who Held The Door' inside it."

"Okay, fine! Fine! He was nice and also cute and told me he wanted to check out our stuff," the blonde man said, throwing himself onto his back on the floor. 

"Nice! Did you give him one of those cards that you insisted on having made?"

"Yeah..."

"Did he brush your hand lightly as you handed it to him, and it made your breath hitch?" 

"Shut up! _Actually_ he was carrying coffee so I slid it into his back pocket..."

John began to laugh as he leaned back against the stairs, comically slapping his knee.

"What?!" Robert shouted, struggling to stand up in embarrassment. 

"Dude," John said, still giggling. "That's gay!" He continued to snicker as Robert pushed him off the step and went around him, stomping up the stairs.

 

\--------

 

"Rog. Rog. Rog. Roger. ROGER! ROGER!" Keith began to shout as he walked down the hallway. 

"WHAT?!" Roger screeched, removing his earbuds. "What do you want? What is so urgent?"

"Me and Johnny are gonna go get dinner. Are you hungry?" he asked meekly, being put off by Roger's attitude.

"No, Keith. You guys have fun, though!" 

"Alright!"

Roger checked the time on his phone, and when he realized it was 8:30, he figured he would start settling in for the evening. He shuffled to the bathroom and turned on the shower, placing his phone on the counter as he played some music.

_hey hey mama said the way you move_

_gonna make you sweat_

_gonna make you groove_

Before long, he was singing along and strumming the strings off an air guitar. He got so into the music that he didn't hear the front door open, let alone the bathroom door. When the song came to an end he heard clapping.

_What the h-_

"Oh, bravo, Roger, Bravo," Pete yelled, clapping vigorously and wiping fake tears from his cheeks.

"Fuck off!" Roger shrieked, poking his head around the shower curtain.

"Well I was just coming home from work, but I had no idea that Nina Simone was doing a private concert in my bathroom!" He was laughing, but Roger wasn't, standing there like an angry wet dog and frowning.

"Did you actually want something? Or are you here purely to piss me off?" He hissed, turning the water off.

"Well, I'm thinking of ordering pizza if you were done with your mini opera."

"I'll eat some if you'll shut the hell up."

"Deal."

Pete sauntered out of the bathroom to let Roger get dressed in peace, which he did quickly, afraid Pete may barge in to make fun of him for something else. He blow dried his hair, which took quite a bit of time, so much, in fact, that when he left the bathroom, Pete was tipping the pizza boy. Roger locked eyes with the man for only a second as Pete shut the door.

"Hey Rog, did you see that pizza delivery guy? He looked just like you! 'Cept taller, a bit more handsome," Pete said nonchalantly, picking up a slice of pizza.

"Yeah," Roger responded, staring at the door. "Yeah I did."

Pete didn't notice the inflection in Roger's voice, and only shoulder bumped him out of his trance on the way to the couch.

"So, what'll it be?" He said as he held up his hands containing two boxes. "Kill Bill or Space Jam?"

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

"Keith! John! Are you hungry?" Roger jogged around the house looking for someone that could answer his question, and all but plowed into John.

"I'd be quiet if I were you. Pete's writing and needs his peace, etc. etc."

"You'd be quiet if you were anyone," John didn't have time for a rebuttal before Roger repeated himself. "Are you hungry? I'm thinking about ordering pizza."

"I ain't gonna turn ya down. Neither is Keith."

"Okay, cool, I'll call-"

"Now, why would you order pizza when we ate it two nights ago?" Pete had snuck down the hall and was navigating around Roger, making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. "Are you on some innovative diet? Are you addicted to the grade B marinara? You got a crush on the delivery boy?"

"NO! That's absurd all of those things are ridiculous especially the last one..." Roger trailed off and looked around Pete at John, trying to get some sort of interjection. To his dismay, he only saw John staring at him with a brow cocked, and Keith leaning in from the next room. Pete swayed into his line of vision and smirked at him.

"Well, I was joking, but now that I know you're sweet on him I'll be sure to take plenty of pictures of you two on prom night."

"Shut up, Pete! Maybe Robert is my 'crush', or maybe I'm just hungry! How about that?!"

No one mentioned the elephant in the room for a moment, leaving the slip up wafting in the air. Keith was the one to carry the torch, leaning around John and speaking for the first time, "why do you know his name?"

"You been stalking 'im?" John added with a snort. Keith giggled and it wasn't long before John and Pete had joined in, eventually cackling like rabid hyenas. Roger stood a moment, embarrassed, before turning and stomping off to his room, fists clenched. The group of dark haired men stayed at a safe distance but continued to heckle him. He picked up his laptop and hauled it past his friends, a word he would consider loose right now, and to the living room. The middle of the couch seemed to be waiting for him as he opened the computer and began fiercely typing. John and Keith took a seat on either side of him, slowly, curious about his actions. He pulled up a web page silently and the two men scanned it.

"Led Zeppelin?" Keith murmured as Roger hit play and leaned back. He almost made contact with Pete, who was now leaning over him, at the center of the hullabaloo. The moments wavered on as the seven minute tune filled the room. Roger began to regret this decision, waiting for some form of approval. He noticed John nod ever so slightly, and thought Keith may have been drumming on his thighs, but didn't know what would result. He was almost emotionally attached to this music after meeting Robert. Before he could read anymore into that, the song was over and everyone was still silent. He leaned forward and shut his computer slowly, almost afraid to break the silence that he hated so much.

"Cool." It was a simple word, but one of approval, and from Pete.

"I like it," Keith chipped in, nodding in agreement with himself. John was also nodding now, giving his own form of approval. Roger cleared his throat and smiled.

"See. They're good, and that's how I know his name. He knows us too, likes our stuff," he said as he stood up. Pete had wandered into the kitchen and was bent over in the refrigerator, rummaging for something. He appeared fully from behind the door as Roger walked in, glancing at him casually, but waiting for his word on the original matter. Pete stood sipping from his soda can before casting down his gaze to meet Roger's. "Well, you were right. They're good, but I'm not eating pizza again," he said as he made his way down the hallway to his room. Roger opened his mouth to protest but Pete cut him off. Reaching for his doorknob he turned his head toward the kitchen. "Get me some buffalo wings."

\- - - - - - - -

"Robert! Delivery!"

"Alright, alright. I'm on it," the tall man groaned as he took the boxes to his car. It's not that he didn't like his coworkers, he just didn't like his job in general. The band was off to a pretty good start, and played about every weekend, but it wasn't enough to rent their house. He hated being that lead singer that you idolize on Saturday and tip $5 for breadsticks on Sunday. Robert punched the address into his GPS and was off, letting the wind blow his hair through the window of his air condition-less car. When he got on his destination's street he felt like he had been there before.

 _Of course you've been here before, you deliver all over town_.

He pulled into the driveway and walked around the car to get the food. He walked up to the door and pressed his finger to the doorbell, then had a sudden revelation.

_This can't be the house? This is the house?! Oh god-_

Before he could play out his internal monologue, a man opened the door. Not just any man, Roger. He smiled goofily before he could stop himself.

"Uh, hey... I have your pizza," he said trying to get a foot in the door, literally and figuratively.

"Yeah... Yeah! Hold on," Roger said as he scurried into the house, leaving the door open. Robert stood there for a moment before a third man stepped into the doorway. It was the man he had dealt with the first night he came to the house.

"Hello. I'm Pete, and you're Robert, correct?" He asked with a smile that said the question was rhetorical.

"Um. Hello, Pete. How do you know my name?"

"Well this little guy can't stop talking about you!" Pete responded as he placed his hands on Roger's shoulders, who has just arrived to the conversation.

"Pete... What are you doing?" He asked, looking up at his band mate with a distrusting frown.

"Well I'm just getting to know your boyfriend, of course." Robert's eyes widened as he struggled to stay in the doorway, a prop in this situation.

"Why don't you take your big nose out of my business?" The question came through gritted teeth, Roger already furious after the short exchange. Pete scowled at him before turning to Robert.

"Lovely meeting you, I'm taking these," he said as he grabbed the smaller box, presumably his dinner. He walked off down the hallway and left Roger and Robert awkwardly in the doorway. Roger couldn't manage to make eye contact for the moment and just handed Robert the money, swapping it out for the food.

"Thanks..." He mumbled as he kept his eyes on the pizza. "Sorry about that."

"Hey, it's okay," Robert responded quickly, his composure already returned. He placed his hand on Roger's forearm, who in turn looked up at him.

"The band's playing a show on Saturday," He said as he twisted his heel against the door frame. "You should come. Even bring Pete if you want."

"Okay..." Roger said slowly with a nod. "We'll be there. I'll bring the whole band. Be like a group hangout."

"That sounds great," with that agreement, Robert was off, driving away with a wave of his hand and a smile.


	5. Chapter 5

"If I wear jeans with holes does it look like I don't care?" Roger asked as he filed through his sectioned off closet.

"You're caring enough to show up, aren't ya?" John was the fashion adviser of the night, at least to Roger. "Dress pants'll make you look like a square."

"I just don't want to make a bad impression, John!"

""Leather pants are good. They show that you tried but still seem cool. Plus they're like, super gay." Pete was leaning in the doorway with an apple in his hand and a smirk adorning his face. "You do have that pair from your alternative phase."

Roger scowled at him and tried to make a joke about Pete's attire but there was nothing to pick at. He wore form fitting, straight leg jeans and a white shirt adorned with some obscure brand logo. He undeniably was the best dressed at the moment. 

"Why don't you go make sure Keith is ready and stop being so snarky, bone." John interjected before Roger could begin a temper tantrum. Pete rolled his eyes and sauntered down the hallway, leaving John sitting on the bed and Roger kneeling on the floor across the room, eyeing a pair of leather pants. 

 

\--------------------

 

The mic stand felt cool beneath his sweaty palms and the small crowd beamed at the multitude of sounds ahead of them. The lighting was dim and the harsh aroma of the room burned Robert's nostrils, but he was overwhelmed with excitement. He didn't see Roger in the crowd yet so his nerves were minimal as the band began to tear out their opening song. Jimmy was being particularly showy this evening but Robert didn't question it because everyone within a mile radius was eating it up. He whipped his blonde hair about and harassed his bandmates during the first part of the set, inciting a lot of energy in the quaint bar. By their third song, he had forgotten he even invited Roger, and found himself consumed in the sound. The rest of their performance went quickly and smoothly, and before Robert knew it he was bounding off the small stage to the bar. People whistled and a few guys patted him on the back as some women slipped him their numbers. After a moment, he noticed a small group of guys down the bar that looked familiar. He maneuvered through the crowd that was splitting off in clusters to meet them. Without thinking, he hugged the shortest man who had been watching him make his way over. 

"I'm glad you made it!" He was shouting over the commotion and grinning like someone had told him to say cheese. When he saw Roger's cheeks redden he expanded his gaze to spread the thank you to the entire group. He went to shake Pete's hand and received a formal forearm shake, much to his confusion.

_Not like I'm carrying a dagger, buddy,_

Pete used this unusual motion to pull Robert closer to him awkwardly, causing him to trip over his own feet.

"Great set, mate," he said with a smile as his eyes pierced Robert's face like icicles. 

"Thanks, man," he responded shakily as he stepped back from Pete's now loosening grip. He found himself encapsulated in a friendly hug by a man he had not yet met, and another nodded his head at him solemnly. Before he could ask their names, his own group of friends had arrived at the bar, all smiles. 

"Who are your new friends?" Jimmy asked with a look on his face that said he already knew. The first to introduce themselves were Keith and Roger, then the trio of Johns. 

"That'll never do..." Roger mumbled as he looked between the three men.

"Well, you can call me 'Bonzo'," the drummer stated with a shrug. "This one here can be called 'Jonesy'." Jonesy nodded in agreement and they both looked at John for a moment before he piped up.

"Well, I figure I can just be John then," he stated flatly and the other two chuckled. The circle each stated their names and shook hands, the last interaction between Pete and Jimmy. They stood there chatting about nonsense for a few moments until Roger slipped out of the group and headed for the door. Robert followed him moments later and slipped out into the night breeze. 

 He shivered against the air and looked around for a moment before seeing Roger sitting on the curb by himself. He took one wide step to the street and looked down at him for a moment before piping up. 

"Waiting on a Greyhound?"

Roger twisted his torso quickly in surprise before seeing the tall figure looming there, hands in pockets. 

"Oh, uh, I just get stressed in crowds."

"I could get that. Mind if I join you?" 

Robert didn't wait for an answer before plopping down on the sidewalk and crossing his legs in a pretzel formation. He rubbed his arms and pulled out a cigarette, a quick flame illuminating his soft features for a fleeting moment. He held the pack to Roger who scrunched up his nose in a silent form of disapproval and chuckled as he slid it back into the front pocket of his well worn t-shirt. Another shiver rattled his body as a gust of wind blew through his hair. In the same moment, he felt a new weight on his shoulders. He looked at Roger with a cocked brow as he now sported the jacket that was once worn by the smaller man. 

"Looked cold," he said as he turned his head to view a car creeping down an alley next to them.

"Thanks. So, like, we goin' steady now?" Robert teased as he butted out his cigarette on the street. Roger blushed in the hazy yellow light around him, momentarily looking like an oil painting of a cherub as it bounced off his large features. Robert didn't realize how close their faces were until he could smell an unfamiliar musk. There was a moment when he thought he had won the smaller man's affections before he heard a throat being cleared, and saw a big nose right in his business.

 


	6. Chapter 6

"The gang is going to eat. Care to join?" Pete had one arm crossed over his chest and the other rested in the crook at the elbow. His hand held his chin like he had been awaiting an answer for his entire life. Roger looked at him as if he was ready to pounce. His small body shook and Robert didn't think it was from the chill of the night. Before a brawl could entail, Robert sprung up to meet Pete face to face.

"Sounds like a date, Petey," he said as he ran inside to corral the group. He was gone for only a moment and Roger had already managed to scramble to his feet and grab Pete by his shirt collar.

"I know, disgusting that he called me Petey but you really shouldn't take that out on me," Pete joked as Roger held him white knuckled an inch away from his own body.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" He spat at the taller man who seemed more tense than a moment ago.

"Take it easy, Goliath, sorry I broke up your date."

"If we were someplace else I'd punch you in your goddamn nose." Before Pete could shot off another crude comment, Robert burst out into the night with Keith's arm around his neck tousling his thick hair and the four remaining men hurdling out behind them. "Let's get goin', gents!" Keith yelled as he lazily skipped down the sidewalk. "Keith, wrong way!" Robert shouted after him before turning to face the rest of the group.

"He may be drunk but he knows where we're parked, Adonis." Pete snarked as Robert fumbled in his pockets.

"Well, I'm parked over here. I figured we could take my car and I'll just bring you back here later. We're headed downtown," Robert responded as he finally retrieved the keys from his snug pockets.

"You got a tour bus? There's eight of us."

"Somethin' like that." The group began the trek to the lot down the street where Robert led them to the biggest car most of them had ever seen. Pete look from the car to the group and furrowed his brow, waiting for the punchline of what seemed like a joke.

"What the hell is this, man," Keith spoke in amazement as he ogled the car.

"1978 Cadillac Coupe Deville," Robert responded as he unlocked the boat of a machine that glared at the rest of the men. "Three in the front five in the back."

"You can't be serious," Pete whined as the Johns began filing into the back.

"Listen, man, you can either get in the front to soothe your apparent situational claustrophobia, or you can ride in the trunk with the guitars," Robert shot back as he ushered Roger into the front middle and waited for the back seat to be filled before taking his seat. Pete stomped the parameter of the car to plop down in the passenger seat with a huff. "Isn't this illegal?" Jonesy asked nervously as his small frame was being crushed between Bonzo and John, who had Keith in his lap and Jimmy at his other side.

"Don't worry about it," Robert chortled as he fired up the engine and began the awkward drive in his clown car full of gleeful guys- and Pete. Luckily enough he already knew where he planned to take them. There was a diner downtown where the waitresses were fond of him and any noise wasn't about to disturb the regulars, not to mention pretty good food that made him sick only once. The current state of the crew wasn't an unpleasant one, what with Keith telling some grandiose story about a pool party that may or may not have actually happened and Bonzo air drumming violently to the radio, almost clocking Jonesy more than a few times. Robert had acquired his own jacket and returned Roger's to him, the arms being several inches too short anyway, and he had the window down letting the wind tangle through his hair much to Roger's angst. This amiable atmosphere couldn't be broken up even by Pete's sulking, and they pulled into the parking lot all laughs.

"Have they given you one of those uh- cards where they put the holes for a free meal or whatever?" Jimmy asked with a chuckle almost entirely to himself.

"Hole punch card, man," Robert said as he walked to the door and held it open.

"Shut up, Robert, I'm trying to roast you here." Six men filed in like a flock of baby geese and Robert turned to see Pete standing behind him on the sidewalk, silently demanding to be the last to enter. Robert held his arm straight out grasping the handle and leaned sideways toward Pete, a brow raised. "You know, I'm trying to be a friend, here," he said as he eyed the dark headed man who stood stiff beside him.

"I don't particularly need you as a friend," he responded and shifted his weight between his feet. Robert shut the door and stood facing Pete for a moment, waiting for the silence to snap.

"Okay, so what's the problem here? Did i do something to you? Was your food made wrong last time I delivered it? Do I look like the guy that picked on you in high school?" Robert was getting annoyed with giving Pete all the liberties and was almost ready to start a physical fight in the parking lot. They continued to make intense, unsettling eye contact until the bell on the diner door jingled.

"Hey, uh, everybody's gonna order and maybe you guys should also... come order," it was John peering at them around the door frame as he kept one foot in the building. He could sense the tension and had his forehead wrinkled in confusion when he saw the pair facing off on the sidewalk. Pete navigated around the curly headed man in front of him and went  inside, John slowly creeping in behind him. Robert stood still for a moment inhaling deeply, and went in to order his late night omelette, hoping for at least a bit of peace. 


	7. Chapter 7

Objectively, the two weeks between the diner and this particular Friday night had been smooth. The Who had garnered a lot of praise on the internet and were on the verge of signing a deal to play a nationwide American festival. Roger currently laid on his bed on his stomach, his legs crossed at the ankle. He was the poster boy for a school girl crush these days and had no shame over it. Robert sent him periodical texts; selfies from work, opinions on everyone he knew, and advice on how to deal with anything under the sun. Roger was really enjoying this digital company. It was low stress, high energy exchanges that made him childishly excited. He was currently online shopping, phone at his side, the muffled sound of Pavarotti emitting from Pete's room next door. Pete. That wasn't a pleasant thought. Roger heard him fumble around his room occasionally, probably pinning ideas to his wall like a forensic scientist. They hadn't had a full conversation since two weekends ago when they had come home and really had it out. It was your stereotypical couple's quarrel but they weren't a couple, and Keith wasn't their scared child despite his apparent puppy-in-a-thunderstorm fear. John was never one for stereotypes and metaphors and just locked himself in his room to watch some talk show while the battle raged on. The only one that had all the details was Pete- meticulous Pete. Roger was of course belligerent over the situation, but Pete left most things unsaid. This left Roger confused and upset, but he wasn't really willing to dig for the root of the issue. As he was mulling this over, his phone buzzed against his forearm. 

Robert: _there's some folk singer at a local bar tonight. care to go?_

Roger smiled at the text as he received a second one. It was also from Robert, and simply said, "just us." He quickly shot back a yes and rolled onto his back, smiling up at the ceiling. 

 

\--------

 

"Robert, other people live here!" Jimmy was pounding on the door with both hands, the sound falling unnoticed past Robert's hair dryer. He had been in the bathroom for forty minutes minimum, primping for the evening. Jimmy was leaning his whole body weight on the door and whining, soon to be regretful as Robert opened it and he nearly hit the floor. "Roooobert!"

"Jiiiimy!" Robert was wearing light wash jeans and an unmarked baseball jersey, and let his hair hang down. He pushed past his brunette roommate and walked to the kitchen, drinking a glass of water before retrieving his keys. 

"Where ya goin'?" Bonzo asked from his spot on the couch in the next room.

"Out!" Robert responded in short, sprinting out the door before further interrogation could begin. He ran to his car and made the drive to pick up Roger. He was nervous about the prospect of a hassle and strummed his fingers on the steering wheel the whole way. Concepts of how the night would be danced through his head as he cut across town. When he pulled into the driveway, the passenger door was just as soon open. Roger gave him a goofy grin and climbed in.

"Hey, what's up?" He asked enthusiastically as he gave Robert a warm hug. Robert smiled around the smaller man's hair and pulled away.

"Nothin' much, man! Ready for tonight?" Robert put the car in gear and pulled out of the driveway, heading into the city. 

"Yeah! What's the deal with this folk guy?"

"His name is uh. Bob somethin' or other."

"Is the bar big enough for the both o' ya's?"

Robert cocked his brow and glanced at Roger, inquiring, "what are you talking about, Rog?" 

Roger almost giggled at the common nickname that Robert was utilizing for the first time. He put his hands over his face and prepared to repeat his bad joke.

"Y'know because 'Bob' is a shortened form of 'Robert'..." He looked out the window and silently cursed himself for this. He turned to Robert to see him quietly snickering and shaking his head.

"You're such a goober, man!" He smiled warmly as he watched the road ahead. Roger reciprocated that, even if Robert wasn't looking. The drive was comfortable and quick, the sun setting ahead of them as Robert eased into a parallel spot down the street from the bar. He climbed out of the car and stepped up on the curb, Roger clambering out behind him. They walked together into the building and up to the bar; Robert ordered a beer and was soon obliged, but when Roger did the same he was immediately carded. He blushed at the exchange and Robert giggled at him. 

"Tall privilege I guess," he said as he took a drink and winked at him. This only made him blush more, but this banter was luckily cut short by a small man adorning the stage with an acoustic guitar in his hands and a harmonica 'round his neck. 

"How's everybody doin' tonight?" His voice was rough but not very deep, and complimented his unique appearance. He smiled when the crowd responded and began to play without further introduction. The music rang through the room as he serenaded the crowd. Roger looked to Robert to see him smiling and tapping his foot against the hardwood floor. He thought about the effortless motion that conveyed enjoyment, and looked at his own feet dangling from the stool above the floor. Robert looked like, and was, the coolest and most effortless guy ever. He was warm and inviting but with a calm edge and just being there with him made Roger feel like his street cred was leveling up. He stole glances at him through the whole set, the tiny man on stage turning out the night's soundtrack. After about thirty minutes, he spoke a "thank you" into the microphone and parted with a grin. Robert turned to Roger all smiles, brushing a piece of hair behind his ear.

"I loved that guy!" He said as he made a 180 on his stool and ordered another drink.

"Yeah! Yeah he was interesting- fresh sounding," Roger responded taking a sip of his original beer. He frowned at how warm it had gotten, making him notice the heat that existed in the small space. He looked to Robert who had a hair band rested between his lips, corralling his curls into a bun with both hands. 

"Warm in here," he stated, teeth clamping the tie as not to drop it. He then retrieved it from his mouth and wrapped it around the hair atop his head. Roger stared at him wide-eyed and nodded, taking another unpleasant sip of his warm beer. He winced and turned to the bartender ordering a different beverage. She was back quickly with a strawberry beer, and Robert gave her a wink and a grin before turning to Roger. 

"Flavored beer?" He asked, smirk playing on his face. 

"Look, if I wanted the taste of beer I'd eat bread soaked in rubbing alcohol!" Roger interjected defensively. Robert tilted his head to the side and chuckled.

"Hey, hey, it's fine. I'm more of a red wine guy myself," he responded, sipping from his bottle. "This may not be the place to expect a good selection, though." 

 Roger bit his lip as he imagined Robert giving him a tour of his wine cellar. Was it even practical to imagine a young adult having a wine cellar? Probably not. Was it practical to imagine aforementioned young adult making him his bitch in said wine cellar after one date? Also seemed unlikely. When he realized what he was doing he snapped back to reality to see the folk singer chatting with Robert.

_Where the hell did this guy come from?_

He eyed the new addition who smiled at him and reached a hand out.

"Bob," he remarked with a smirk dancing across his lips. Roger met his hand and shook it, feeling an uncomfortable lack of tension in the man's wrist.

 _Weak handshake, Prince Charming_.

"Roger."

"I was just telling Bob how much we enjoyed his performance!" Robert interjected, oblivious to the unease between his two tiny companions.

"Yeah, it was good," Roger said with a slow nod.

"Hey, thanks!" Bob responded before pulling out a cigarette. "I'm gonna be off now. Nice to meet you both!"

With that he slunk through the bar and out the door, unnoticed by the crowd.

"Cool guy," Robert said as he turned to Roger.

"Yeah if you like weird short dudes," Roger responded against his better judgement.

"I think you know that I do," Robert shot back with a wink, chuckling lightly as some of his hair came loose around his face. Roger had this sudden feeling that he followed, leaning forward to brush a curl behind Robert's ear. Robert grinned at him before leaning in to kiss him, grabbing the back of his neck. Roger felt the feelings from his fantasy stir inside him, and he nearly fell from his stool. He pulled away quickly, springing from his seat.

"Can we leave?" He wasn't entirely asking, his hand wrapping around Robert's wrist to drag him through the door.

"Roger is everything okay?" Robert inquired once they had gotten a few feet down the sidewalk.

"Car- where's the car?" Roger responded, still speed-walking down the strip.

"It's right up here, Rog," Robert said pulling his arm away and directing Roger with a hand on his back. They both extended their strides, arriving at the car in what felt like a millisecond. Both men climbed into the vehicle and before Robert could ask what the deal was, Roger was in the middle of the bench seat kissing him. He grabbed at both sides of Robert's face desperately, tasting the beer on his lips. It only took a moment for Robert to reciprocate, grabbing at Roger's small frame. However, he was the first to break contact for some clarity.

"There's kind of a lot of people around," he said, running his hand through the front of his hair. Roger nodded in silent agreement and sat back as the car started up, and the drive across town began. Though they only had a few miles ahead, the tension was palpable between them. As they reached the half way point, Roger broke the invisible barrier and began touching Robert's thigh. He pretended not to notice up until the point that Roger had unbuckled his belt and began touching him over his boxers. He winced and sped up, nearly missing Roger's driveway. They sprinted into the house, luckily to find everyone asleep. Robert found himself being pulled once again down a long hallway to Roger's room. He shut the door with his foot as the small man whirled around and pushed him back onto a full sized bed. He soon found himself without pants as Roger sloppily kissed him again, tugging at his shirt. Robert sat up quickly with the small man in his lap, and transferred him onto his back. He stood up to find he was in nothing but underwear, and decided to even the playing field.

"Take your shirt off, Roger," he ordered, removing the man's belt. Roger obliged and had hardly gotten it over his head before feeling an overwhelming sensation. Robert had nimbly removed his bottoms, and was trailing his tongue up Roger's shaft. He fell back and arched away from his mattress, moaning at the sensation. Robert made good use of his mouth, taking Roger in whole, bobbing his head up and down slowly. He pulled away after a short moment much to Roger's dismay, and made off across the room to dig through his drawers.

"Robert? What are you even doing?" He whined from his spot on the mattress. He received no answer, but didn't need one once Robert came back to him, bottle of lube in hand. The taller man pulled his briefs down, making Roger gasp.

"Think you can handle it?" Robert asked as he squirted the lube into his palms.

"Shut up, dude," Roger responded agitated.

"Y'know, you don't have to call me dude anymore. I mean, I'm about to fuck you in the ass," he joked. Before Roger could offer a rebuttal, Robert had made use of his hands and entered Roger abruptly with two fingers. Roger cried out at the sensation and was displeased at how short-lived it was. He considered protesting before realizing Robert was pressed at his entrance.

"You ready?" He asked looking to the man beneath him for permission. The response he got was a closed eyed nod and he pressed forward, eliciting a gasp. Roger breathed in deeply as Robert thrusted slowly and steadily, helping him adjust. Roger's body visibly relaxed and he began to roll his hips against Robert, who sped up, moaning quietly through his thicket of hair. The room was becoming full with heavy breathing and quiet moans and was only interrupted by Roger's requests for Robert to speed up, to which he obliged. Roger gripped at his shoulders as the space between them became hot, like a fever about to break. Robert felt himself about to let go, and stroked Roger as he thrust deep into his a few more times, bringing them to simultaneous climaxes. They collected themselves and Robert fell face first onto the bed. He slowly climbed up next to Roger and snuggled into his back, falling almost immediately asleep. Roger stayed alert for only a moment, enjoying the warmth around him.

_At least half of that fantasy played out._

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Whistling. Exactly what Roger wanted to hear at 8AM. Pete was making the rare pot of tea this morning while his roommates snored in the rooms around him. John had wandered out into the kitchen with him and sat at the counter drumming out a tune with the palms of his hands.  
"Keith is as loud asleep as he is awake," Pete observed pouring himself a cup.  
"Trust me I know," John agreed of the man he had the honor of sharing the third bedroom with. They shared a chuckle about this before falling entirely silent, drinking what would likely be breakfast. After a moment of this quiet, a shuffling in the hallway made the two look at each other before looking toward the noise. Roger creeped into the room slowly without noticing the others' presence.  
"Rog?" John said scaring the small man who immediately jumped back and with a thud hit the body behind him. The heat radiated from his embarrassed face when he realized his ideas that Pete and John had cleared out were false. He was pushed forward by the man behind him who stepped out to be recognized as Robert. Without a word he kissed Roger on his cheek and nodded to John, who raised an eyebrow and nodded back, before making his exit. Roger stood, a deer in the headlights, wanting to run but glued to the floor.  
"Well this is bullshit," Pete scoffed breaking the silence. "Why weren't we invited to the slumber party?"  
"Fuck off!" Roger yelled as he stomped his way back to his room, slamming the door. Before Pete could even laugh, another door was being slammed.   
"What's all this nonsense?!" Keith had emerged from his room still half asleep and wholly annoyed. John looked at him and smirked, shaking his head.  
"I'll catch you up later."

\------------

Robert rolled into his drive a few short minutes before 9. He knew Jonesy's alarm would go off then, setting him on his daily path. The door thankfully made no sound as he slid it open and shut again, locking it behind him. He slid his shoes off and padded his way toward his room.

"Early morning?" A voice rang from the kitchen, deflating Robert's I-Got-Away-With-It ego. 

"Don't start, Jimmy," Robert sighed, not bothering to look around the corner and meet Jimmy's all-knowing stare. "Why are you up so early anyway?"

"Maternal instinct?" He joked and Robert heard him pick up a mug. 

_The bastard made coffee? How long has he been up?!_

Robert tried to think of a closing line before realizing Jimmy was now next to him, leaned against the wall.

"Better go get some beauty rest. You're getting crows feet from scowling at me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's been so long. This chapter is also a bit short but I'm trying to get to working on this again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this chapter and then accidentally deleted it and had to start again, so hopefully it held up.

"Wake up, bitch!" Robert felt Bonzo's presence before he heard it. The drummer stood over him wielding a pillow which he had swung down on him like an ax.  
"What the fuck?!" The blonde erupted, springing up from his burrow in his bed. Bonzo said nothing in return, instead cocked his hip and tapped the invisible watch on his wrist to the time of his foot patting the ground. "Alright, alright."   
He watched from his pile of blankets as the drummer bounded out of the room and down the stairs. There was a moment of silence before he heard Bonzo again, pounding away on his drums. Robert stood and wandered over to his dresser, drawers hanging out haphazardly, and dug for a pair of jeans. All of his shirts smelled rank, so he skipped out on one hoping Jimmy had done some laundry. He padded down the hallway and into the basement where everyone else was tuning up. It was Saturday meaning Jimmy had lined up some gig at some venue and they had to get at least an hour of practice before he'd be satisfied. Currently he was crouched down in the corner untangling cords as Jonesy leaned against the wall by the stairs and Robert stood on the bottom step watching.  
"Hey, Jimbo, what songs we playin' tonight?" Bonzo asked, watching his drum sticks twirl between his fingers.  
"I wrote it down over there," the guitarist answered, pointing over his shoulder. "And stop fucking calling me that!"  
"How long until Jimmy throws something at him?" Jonesy spoke only to Robert, not taking his eyes from the action.  
"Twenty minutes, tops," Robert proposed without much thought.  
"How'd ya sleep?" the bassist continued, eyes still fixed ahead.  
"Working on your small talk, Jonesy?"  
"Just noticed your car wasn't here this morning."  
"Yes it was," Robert asserted, turning his head slowly and scanning the small man's face for any emotion.  
"It was such a nice morning, Rob," Jonesy started, seemingly a non sequitur to his nervous roommate. "I decided to get up early and go for breakfast."

_Fuck._

"You two are gonna kill me, man," Robert huffed as he plopped down on the stairs.  
"Don't worry," Jonesy soothed, still not making eye contact. "I'm not one for gossip."

\--------

"Don't fucking break that! You won't get a new one!" Pete yelled, hand on hip, at the pile of drums containing a giggling Keith. It wasn't in rare form for Pete to become angry with how reckless Keith was. Even less rare for him to try to inject values into the boy about money and the trees that it doesn't grow on. Keith was the only one of them that was sufficiently unemployed, maintaining the belief that you do what you love and money will come. He'd get a gig here and there as a session drummer, but it just didn't pay enough to replace the items that he willingly destroyed. Pete did freelance himself, but had a more lucrative setup, using his blog for commissions. It's not like he hadn't considered making a living as a painter, but he loved writing and playing music too much to put in on the back burner. He used a fair amount of his profit paying over half the bills, and the rest buying gear. John's accounting work took down most of the rent, and Roger's irregular construction work capped it off. This left Keith, at home, tearing things up. No one really gave a shit as long as he was cutting the sleeves out of his own shirts. He'd gotten to the point where he and Pete had this chat once a week or so, sitting with a shit eating grin while Pete wagged his finger. During this particular round, John interjected with a query, "Is Roger gonna get up and come to practice or what?"  
Pete didn't answer for a moment, instead opted to crank up the volume of his amp and place it facing into the house where he left the door open. He proceeded to return to his former spot and set his fingers to his guitar, "Let's find out."


	10. Chapter 10

Roger found himself lying on the floor on his back, watching the shadow of a tree outside dance against the ceiling. Despite the way the morning had started, he felt peaceful in these moments. He considered putting on a record, but opted for listening carefully for the birds that inhabited the space outside his window. He had heard a familiar crash a minute or so ago, knowing it must be Keith fooling around in the garage. No other sounds had come of it so he figured Keith was sent back into the house for somewhat of a timeout where he would watch t.v. and eat a freezer burrito until he was allowed to go back and play. He smiled at this thought and began to drift back to sleep before the shrill sound of Pete's Gibson pierced his ears like an arrow, causing him to spring up from his position against the hardwood.

"I'm going to _actually_ murder him," he mumbled, blowing a curl out of his line of vision. He was in the garage in eight seconds flat; Pete was flat on the floor in ten. It was quite a sight to Keith, who clapped gleefully as Roger sent Pete toppling into a mess of cords, then left with the slender man's amp under his arm.

"Give me my amp, you bastard!" Pete screeched as he stumbled out of the garage into the house.

"Not until you know how to act like an adult."

"You can't just take my property, you fucking hobbit!"

Roger would've waylaid his roommate then and there if it weren't for Keith yelling "oooo" from the end of the hallway where he and John had been enjoying the altercation. He instead sat the amp in his room before shutting the door and locking the deadbolt behind him. He went off for the kitchen with Pete on his heels and two sets of feet padding a few yards behind him. He was working on pouring a bowl of cereal when Pete started needling him, not ready to accept this punishment.

"Are you really doing this shit right now?" He interrogated the man before him who was munching away on his oat cereal.

"Getting my daily dose of fiber? Yeah."

"Give me back the amp, Roger!"

"Apologize for acting like a child."

"How was I acting like a _child_?

"Why did you need to disturb my peace when you knew I was tired?"

"Why did you need to be up all night banging the pizza boy and missing practice?"

John and Keith, who had been looking back and forth like tennis spectators, now looked at each other nervously.

"I didn't figure it'd bother you on account of your sleeping coffin being soundproof," Roger answered without looking up from his breakfast. At this point, he had decided not to give Pete what he wanted out of this interaction. The interaction didn't just fizzle, it went entirely flat with Pete stomping off toward his room and slamming the door. There was no point in carrying the argument if he couldn't get a rise out of Roger. 

John and Keith sat now grinning at the man in front of them and began to golf clap as he shook his head and smiled. Roger didn't think it mattered all that much, but took pleasure in knowing that not only did he finally win one of those arguments, he _did_ get to fuck the pizza boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this chapter is really short. next one should be longer.


End file.
